Anne Barbour (14 page)

Tally was new to his experience. How wonderful it was to be so completely at ease with an engaging imp who entered into one’s deepest dreams and desires and treated them almost as her own.

He continued on his way, secure in the knowledge that he need have no fear in continuing his exploration of the many facets of the imp’s personality.

Chapter Twelve

Two days later, Jonathan cantered easily along a secluded bridle path in Green Park. He scanned the grassy slope for Tally’s slight figure, for she had promised to meet him here for another early morning ride. This was their third such outing, and he found, with some surprise, that he looked forward to her appearance as he rarely did to any other of his acquaintances, male or female.

The reason was, he supposed, that it was so enjoyable to be able to speak his mind simply to Tally on any subject. Unlike every other female in his social circle, he must not confine his remarks to the latest
on-dits
, or to inflated compliments on her gown, or to her fine eyes. His enjoyment at being able to share his literary ambitions with her was almost palpable. To her he could describe his triumph over a difficult passage; he could discuss with her a point of characterization. Her response was always honest and intelligent, and more often than not, witty.

He sighed with pleasure. How satisfying to have found such a delightful friend, one who was as enchanting as she was companionable. He smiled as he thought of the sessions to come in the little studio at the back of the Thurston home.

Then he frowned. What if she were unable to get the backgrounds right in those otherwise brilliant illustrations? She had promised a solution with airy assurance, but....

His reverie was broken off as a small, cracked voice caught his ear.

“Vi’lets, guvnor? Buy some vi’lets fer yer lady fair on this fine mornin’, yer worship?”

Jonathan sighed and turned his head to behold one of London’s ubiquitous flower women gesturing to him with her blossoms. What in the world was she doing out and about so early — and in the park, at that? Life must be treating her badly if she were scrabbling for business at such an unlikely hour.

Reaching into his pocket for coins, he bent down to accept the violets from her trembling hand. To his astonishment, the old woman snatched the blooms away, and with a sprightly dance step, whisked off her gray, somewhat greasy wig. She swept him a low bow, the ends of her tattered shawl nearly scraping the ground, then straightened to smile impudently into his eyes.

“Tally!” The word fairly exploded from Jonathan. “What—what in God’s name are you doing in that—that disgraceful getup?”

“Not Tally, my lord.” She had replaced her wig and the grimy bonnet which perched on it, and she allowed her shoulders to sag in a self-deprecating slump. She paraded before him in an arthritic hobble, her flower basket held wearily on her hip. “Granny, perhaps — yes, Granny Posey. That has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

Jonathan dismounted slowly.

“But... what...why...?”

“Don’t you see? Lady Talitha Burnside cannot visit the Fives Court or the Cock Pit, but Granny Posey can sidle into those places without drawing a second glance.”

Tally!” The word burst out again. “You cannot be serious!”

“But, of course I am. You did not recognize me, did you? Nor would anyone else of my brief acquaintance in London. I think I look quite splendid — thanks to Addie’s nephew, Charlie. Miss Adlestrop is my old governess, you see, and Charlie is an actor. He was kind enough to provide me with this, er, costume, and to help me with my makeup.”

She pirouetted before him, her dusty skirts billowing.

“Are you telling me, Lady Talitha Burnside,” began Jonathan in an awful tone, “that you plan to travel the streets of London in that filthy garb?”

Tally nodded brightly.

“And snug in your disguise you think to infiltrate the places we have been discussing, unprotected and alone amidst the most dangerous crowd of thugs one would be likely to encounter on the entire planet?”

Tally nodded again, perhaps a shade less brightly.

“Tell me, my girl, do you fancy yourself living between the pages of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances? I never heard of such lunacy in my life as this plan of yours!”

“Lunacy!”  Tally’s eyes blazed. “It is a very good plan, as you would agree if you could see beyond your male sensibilities. There are hundreds of old women who make their way around the city looking just like this. Dressed in these clothes, and with a few wrinkles and spots added to my face, nobody will pay any attention to me at all. I am obviously too poor to make robbery worthwhile. I am certainly no threat to anyone, so no one will even think of harming me. I shall,” she finished proudly, “be able to gain admittance to any gin shop in London with no questions asked.”

At this Jonathan dropped his head into his hands and gave way to laughter. “A worthy goal for any gently bred maiden,” he gasped. His frown soon returned, however, and he continued with unabated resistance to Tally’s grand plan.

“Really, my dear, you must see that it will not do.”

“But how else am I to see these places for myself so that I can get your wretched backgrounds correct? Jonathan, I am perfectly serious about this, and I mean to carry it through.”

Jonathan stood silent, gazing into her earnest countenance. He had never felt so completely at a loss. How could he explain to her the danger she faced in exposing herself to the underside of London? In her innocence, she simply could not conceive that anyone would want to harm a defenseless old woman, and did not realize that there lurked in those dark back alleys scum who would maim, or even kill for tuppence. He cast about desperately in his mind for words that would sway her.

Even as he opened his mouth, he could see in Tally’s eyes the futility of argument.

“You cannot forbid me, you know,” she cried mutinously.

“I would not be too sure of that,” replied Jonathan with a glint in his eye that made Tally uneasy. “However, perhaps it need not come to that. I shall make you a bargain.”

Tally said nothing, but raised her brows dismissively. Jonathan raised a gloved hand.

“No, hear me out, Tally. I will agree to let you—that is, not to stand in the way of your plan, if you will allow me to accompany you.”

Tally looked at him swiftly. “But, you could not.

“I don’t mean that we should travel together. We would simply be in the same place at the same time. I shall meet you somewhere near the Thurston home, and we will go by carriage to whichever haunt of vice you plan to invade. We will enter separately, and when you feel you have soaked up enough atmosphere, we’ll leave in the same manner.”

“Really, Jonathan,” began Tally angrily, “I do not need to be guided around town like an unruly sheepdog on a leash. I am quite capable....”

“I have no doubt that you are capable of many things, but fighting off a large attacker is not one of them. Please, Tally. Let me do this for you.”

Under that smoky gaze, Tally suddenly felt her breath catch in her throat. Did he realize how unfair his tactics were? That all her independence and determination would simply melt in the sincerity of his concern?

Striving to conceal her sudden trembling, she answered coolly. “Very well. I shall do as you ask, but I trust you will not try to interfere needlessly, or tell me where I may and where I may not go.”

“Agreed,” said Jonathan, the corners of his mouth twitching only slightly.

Thus it was that some hours later, a certain aged flower woman could be seen making her way into the King’s Arms public house, at the corner of Duke and King streets. This was the establishment belonging to Thomas Cribb, and through its portals streamed the cream of the sporting world and those who wished to be a part of it.

Spying a vacant stool in the corner of the taproom,, close by the fire, Tally settled herself in the shadows. Unobtrusively, she drew out a small sketch pad and went to work. She recognized none of the habitués of the tavern but saw that they came from every rank of society. She noticed the respect accorded certain brawny individuals by the haughtiest of Corinthians as they made their jovial way to the parlour. She also noticed that it was only the more favored of Mr. Cribb’s patrons who were ushered into that room, Cribb’s special territory.

Edging close to this sanctum sanctorum, Tally peeked inside, and in a few strokes of her pencil, she captured the essence of that Mecca of Pets and peers alike, Cribb’s Parlour.

She signaled to Jonathan, who was enjoying a heavy wet with the champion himself and several cronies whom he had encountered upon his arrival. By the time she had crept to the door and made her exit, he, too, had made his departure.

On the way home, Tally was loud in gleeful self-congratulation.

“You see?” she chortled. “It simply could not have gone smoother! From the time I shinnied down the tree outside my window till I found you waiting in your carriage, not a soul saw me. Although, I must admit it was hard to stay awake so long after the household had gone to sleep. I shall be absolutely worthless tomorrow! Not that I can allow myself to slack off. I have three drawings to complete featuring Cribb’s Parlour, and this time I know they’ll be right. Oh, Jonathan, isn’t it exciting?”

In the darkness Jonathan smiled. How like a child she was in her enthusiasms. It seemed as though the interior of the carriage was lit not from the flicker of the lamps and flambeaux they passed, but from the sparkle emanating from the absurd little flower woman sitting beside him. He knew a moment’s impulse to draw her to him--to warm himself at the glow that surrounded her.

* * * *

The friendship between Jonathan and Tally grew rapidly, and in a matter of days, they were on the easiest of terms with each other. Jonathan found himself spending more and more time at the home of his friend, Richard Thurston.

The Thurstons were pleased at this turn of events. Richard and Jonathan’s casual friendship soon deepened into a comfortable camaraderie, and Cat smiled as she observed Tally’s growing acceptance among the
ton
, for which Lord Chelmsford’s attention, no matter how platonic, was at least partially responsible.

One person, however, was not at all pleased by the budding relationship. The Countess of Bellewood watched the visits to the Thurston ménage and the rides in the park with a frown that grew angrier by the day.

Not being very wise, Clea showed her displeasure in a series of waspish outbursts that made Jonathan uneasy. In his eyes she could do no wrong, but never in his long infatuation with her had he seen that luscious mouth thin to such a hard line or those limpid blue eyes freeze to a crystalline glitter.

“But, my darling, I have business with Richard Thurston. We are working on a project that may facilitate Lord Castlereagh’s negotiations with Metternich. I have distant family connections in Austria, you know, and—

“I care nothing for Castlereagh or your connections in Austria, Jonathan. All I know is that you are making me a laughingstock with your attentions to that little Burnside chit, and I will not have it!”

To Clea’s fury, her betrothed refused either to reaffirm his undying devotion to her or to discontinue his attentions to the little Burnside chit. Venomously she cast about for a means of revenge, and when her cousin—her distant cousin—Miles Crawshay presented himself in her drawing room for a morning visit, she greeted him with a request. His reaction was not promising.

“You cannot have thought, pet. Chelmsford would more than likely call me out.”

Clea trilled her silvery laugh.

“But you have never avoided a challenge, Miles.”

“Not a quarrel of my own making, no. But I have an aversion to putting my precious hide in jeopardy over one of your whims.”

“Don’t be silly. Chelmsford challenge you to a duel? I don’t think he’s ever considered such an action. Besides, you know he cannot stay angry with me.”

Crawshay appeared unmoved, but his eyes flicked over Clea’s face in speculation.

“Just what is it you are up to, my lovely schemer? It cannot be simply your addiction to gambling. Why are you bent on putting Chelmsford in a rage? If I were you, I should be careful what I was about. He is not one of your painted puppies to be whistled to order.”

“Pooh. He may not be painted, but he can be whistled to order at any time of my choosing. And I am not addicted to gambling—I simply enjoy my little flings, and I do wish to try my luck at
Madame de Robitaille’s house. Will you take me? Please, Miles?”

Crawshay smiled cynically, and flicked Clea’s cheek with one slim finger. “Very well. I cannot say I would mind causing my lord an uncomfortable moment. I have always found him to be distressingly high in the instep. But,” he continued, his expression hardening, “take care, my precious gamester. It would do neither of us any good to alienate Chelmsford. Do I make myself clear?”

Clea turned an offended shoulder. “You needn’t concern yourself, Miles. I know what I am about, and I do not fear his anger--his very temporary anger. It will serve only to attach him to me
more strongly than ever. You’ll see.”

The next morning brought rain to London and an unwelcome visitor to the town home of the Viscount Chelmsford. It was the mission in life of Mr. Wilton Delberforce to provide, like the shower now in progress, a steady infusion of nourishment to a society always greedy for gossip.

He arrived at Chelmsford House just as Jonathan was sitting down to breakfast. The viscount sighed inwardly and invited his guest to partake of his sirloin and eggs; then he waited for the inevitable downpour.

But Mr. Delberforce was not to be rushed. He indeed had a thunderbolt to drop on the viscount’s head, but there was form to be followed in these matters. He settled his corpulent form in a chair across from Jonathan and proceeded in the most delicate manner to regale his host with the latest
on-dits.
It was not until he was well into his second tankard of ale that he approached the reason for his appearance.

“I say, my lord,” he wheezed in a tone of utmost confidentiality. “Have you perchance visited the town’s newest hell?”